So this weekend was no different. I found myself in a hormone-induced funk, with a capital F. Starting Friday, I knew my heart was becoming more and more raw, more and more unpredictable and I was having less and less control. Miraculously, I was able to send husband out for a night of freedom with his best friend to spare him a night in with crazy wife. Saturday, still feeling the ick-ness, he was smart enough to stay home and babysit. His wife. But still, no major meltdown. In what I'm sure was incited by "How Great Thou Art" at St. Joseph's church, Sunday was THE day. The day for the meltdown. I dropped a couple tears in Mass but didn't let the deluge begin until we got home. The levies broke and my heart exploded into a mess of nothing comprehensible, nothing explainable, just a big bunch of ridiculous hormones (yes I'm blaming the kid). My husband tried. He sat my swimsuit, sunglasses and book on the sofa and tried to prod me to the pool, saying I could continue crying in the pool but needed to get outside. He may or may not have attempted to put swimsuit on my body but I was having none of that. Poor child gave up and began his yard work while I continued my unexplainable, incomprehensible tear fest. Eventually, I mustered the courage to sit on the stoop outside and continue my crying while he sat next to me. I healed pretty quickly in his sweaty arms, bemoaning the feeling of complete loss of control that these baby hormones induce. I apologized for being 'crazy wife' and looked up at him with ugly, crying eyes and pronounced "I think I'm done. I think it's over." Big girl panties pulled up, I started the day. Husband whispers thank you to God.
An hour later, I was loud and proud in my bikini and our across the street friends were at our house. At the great suggestion of a mom of six with a newborn, I indulged in a cocktail, lovingly made by
As Ross and I were putting the finishing touches on what turned out to be a great day at Captain D's (do NOT judge me. It was freaking amazing), I told him I was a little sad that everyone loooved me after a little teeny tiny bit of cocktail in my system. I said I wanted to be the fun girl without needing liquid help. He kind of shrugged. And I shrugged too. What's a 9.5 month, very large pregnant lady to do? I'll take the a dose of light wherever I can get it. We've got the heavy down pat. Not to worry- other than the first, ice cold sip of Ross's Pabst Blue Ribbon here and there, we will have no more cocktails for this babe. We'll just keep on taking doses of light wherever we can grab them!
And since I have no photos ever captured of me like this- the perfect picture of light and happy!
My precious cousin, A, showing me how's it's done!